Grey Noise
by LadyWow
Summary: Michael ponders his plans and reasons for saving his brother's life. ReRated for swearing and some sexuality.
1. Grey Noise

AN- Well! The First Prison Break fic up! Whoot! Hopefully, you guys will all be adding some soon. There will be more to come on this. I'm just setting it up and delaying as much as possible seeing as only, like four eps have been released to Fox. There are a few things that have yet to be explained and I don't want to insinuate some of the background of the characters.

This is just a few thoughts, or rather, things that I think that Michael would be thinking about while in prison. Wouldn't you be terrified? Especially after getting a pinkie toe chopped off by a pair of garden shears?

Disclaimer- Don't own it. Although, a girl can wish, can't she?

_Oh my god,  
I'm not supposed to say this  
'Cause I know that you're trouble but...  
Is that your real name and why are you doing this?  
And how did I get here?  
Ok..no more questions,  
No worries  
It's destination unknown  
So dive in  
The waters great  
Listen I'm starting to speak like you  
_**Close Up**  
By Frou Frou

Michael breathed in deeply through his nose and tried to ease his mind. He had woken suddenly from a dream that he couldn't remember, but he knew that it had something to do with the reason he was feeling shaky all over. It was a shaky in the good way, like after really good sex. Something he hadn't had since his brother had been condemned to die.

He could overcome this. He had no choice. In a prison where there was a pecking order, where it was the big fish eats little fish, one had to know how to control one's weaknesses. He didn't want to end up like some of the men he'd seen, completely broken and under the power of someone much stronger and smarter. Maybe it was his attitude. Being one of the smallest men in the prison had made him stand out but being one of the smartest had made him stick out further. Luckily he had a plan that had circled around the Penitentiary's most powerful criminals.

Every night, just as the bars slammed shut on his cage and the lights flickered off, Michael had to remind himself why he was there. It was particularly hard to do this after being acquainted with Haywire. The maniacal gleam in the insane man's eyes had been the subject of more than one nightmare.

Michael rolled off of his side and stared straight up at the bars that held the mattress over his head at bay. Sucre's breathing was loud, drifting down and mingling with the other sounds of the prison. Sounds of the building's ancient furnaces rattling, of the men around them snoring and shifting in the bunks, farting and belching. The constant tap, tap, tap of the guards' boots at the walked along the platforms, keeping an eye out for any foul play.

'_You know, if you keep this up you are going to die here.'_ Doctor Sara Tencredi's voice broke the grey noise in his mind.

She made him feel scared. More scared than he could possibly get without pissing himself. She made him feel mortal. The way her eyes could completely divest everything that he strove to build around himself was unnerving. He worried that she might be the key to his undoing but his dependency, not on her but on that tiny room, had kept him coming back to her.

It was natural to be sexually attracted to her, he surmised. She was the only female that he had regular contact with. In another world, where he was just a structural engineer and she a doctor who worked at the prison, he wouldn't have bothered with her if they'd met on the street. She wasn't his type.

He ran his hand through his non-existent hair.

What the hell was this anyways? He wasn't here to meet women, he scorned, he was here to save his brother from being killed for a crime he didn't commit.

He and his brother hadn't spoken much in the past few years. They had a falling out after Michael's graduation from university. Actually, it had been more of a fading away. Neither had anything to really say to one another. In a space of three years, Michael had heard from his brother twice. When he had seen in the newspaper that his brother had managed to kill someone, he was plagued with a sense of brotherly responsibility. He knew that Lincoln wasn't capable of something like this, he was plagued with inconsistent bouts of violence, yes, but nothing that could ever cause murder.

It took six months for Michael to realize that something serious was going on. Something far, far more darker and dangerous that both brothers hadn't sensed. His coworkers had watched the degradation of a brilliant mind, or so they believed. What they hadn't seen was the hundreds of hours Michael had poured over plans, of files that held confidential information he had gleaned from nefarious sources. Of the tattoo that he had kept hidden beneath long sleeved shirts.

The moment he had seen the tattoo on his body, from the mirror in that dingy tattoo parlour, he had hated it. He hated what it had represented. He hated the assumptions that went along with such a burden, engraved deep in his flesh. He hated what it was going to make him do and what it reminded him of.

It was easier to hate than to be scared. It was far easier to let go of his fear if he held his hate and anger close to his heart. He wished that he could be more wild and explosive in his hate, more expressive with his anger like Sucre was. Like many of the inmates who he lived with. But he was calm, composed and didn't like to be ruffled. Showing emotion was a waste of valuable energy... and it went back to that predation thing again.

He turned his thoughts back to his plans, meticulously groomed and perfected but with one variable that could either be his success or complete ruin; the participants in his complicated game. All pawns were moving beautifully into place but it was taking more time than he had originally thought— time that he couldn't afford to waste.

'_You know, if you keep this up you are going to die here.'_ She was right. But he'd be damned if he was going to let his brother die for a crime he didn't commit. He'd be damned if he didn't try and help him. But failure wasn't an option, now that he was neck deep in societal filth. If his brother died, he was going to go down in flames with him.

TBC


	2. Thicker than Water

AN- Thank you so much for all the input! **Lydia12**, **Death by Teacup**, **Lynn Llewllyn**, **moonwolf0**, I appreciate you taking the time to review. :) Oh, **Lynn**, I realized my mistake that night when I was just getting ready to go to bed. :P It'll be fixed soon, but it won't be anything that'll change the entire storyline. ;) Speaking of storylines, I have no idea where this is going! It's just fun to write. LoL.

I love music... it's great. Good music makes you feel different things. Like mushy or sad, angry or happy. I like it all if it can do that to me. That's why the majority of my stories always start out with a snippet from a song.I blame it entirely oniRiver. It's there fault for letting me buy one of their MP3 players. Especially one with 20 gigs to hold all the music to my hearts content.20 gigs... its just not enough...

Disclaimers- Property of Fox Studios. Not mine. I just borrow for my own sick, twisted amusement.

Warning; Some swearing, some smooching, some nostalgia. Some spoilers, but we knew that already, didn't we?

_This is over my head  
But underneath my feet  
Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat  
And everything will be back to the way that it was  
I wish that it was just that easy.  
_**Somewhere in Between  
**By Lifehouse

Michael turned his head and surveyed the dismal doctor's office where he sat waiting for his insulin shot.

She stood before a cabinet, fiddling with something and he couldn't believe that she was actually humming something. He had heard it before, it was a soft and sappy song, one of those songs that was played for the last song at a dance. Michael's eyes slid from her back to the floor as she turned around with the syringe in hand.

Outside, he could hear the restless pacing of the guards. He could see a dark clad shoulder leaning over the frosted glass.

Always courteous, always professional, Doctor Sara Tancredi came over and sat beside him with a tray that held a syringe and swabs of cotton with alcohol on it. "How is your foot?"

"Fine." Michael said, his eyes on the syringe as it punctured his flesh.

"I want to take a look at it." She said, pushing the liquid into his veins and withdrawing the needle.

"You are in a good mood today." He noted calmly, carefully prying off his boot.

She turned and smiled at him, "I've got a date tonight."

Raising an eyebrow, Michael smirked, "And here I thought it was me..." His first attempt at humour and he was already exhausted from the effort.

They succumbed in a uncomfortable silence. Michael sat back, his eyes on the doctor as her cool hands slid over his bandaged foot, carefully unwrapping the wound. "It looks like the stitches were ripped open. What happened, Michael?"

"I stubbed it." He lied, the shuttered look on his face expressing his unwillingness to talk about it.

She sighed in frustration. "I'm going to have to restitch this."

Michael nodded.

"You know, I should try and chastise you for this but I know that it's going to be useless."

"And you think that by chastising a convicted felon really will make a difference? You are a brave woman, Tancredi."

Shrugging, her hands skimmed over the wound. "It could be misconstrued as stupidity, but I'm an optimist."

Michael leaned down, letting the humour show on his face. Sara looked up slowly, feeling his eyes on her. "I'm sure you like to surprise people, don't you?" His voice was low and quiet as he watched her.

She felt uncomfortable with the closeness but found herself strangely attracted to the severeness of his expression. Of all the inmates that she treated, he had been the most enigmatic... the most inconsistent... and that in itself was a potent mixture. He wasn't uneducated-- far from it, and it seemed from his file that he wasn't prone to violence– with the exception of discharging a weapon at the bank he had intended to rob.

Glancing up at his face, she could see that he was pale and withdrawn. Sweat beaded and slid down his face as she stitched it closed again. He wavered in the chair and she sat up, frowning at him, this wasn't supposed to happen. Michael pitched forward in the chair, his body falling against hers and causing them both to topple to the floor.

"Michael!" She said softly, reaching up to take his pulse. It was rapid but strong.

He lifted his head and realized who was beneath him thenrolled onto his back and blinked away dizziness. "I'm sorry, Doc. Didn't know what came over me."

She leaned over him with a flashlight and watched his pupils contract in the light. "What's happening?"

"Just a bit dizzy." He rubbed his face as the lightheadedness ebbed away.

She looked at him suspiciously, "When was the last time you had a full night's sleep?"

He shrugged.

"Let me guess, you haven't had a full night since you got here."

He couldn't have a full night. Especially with things going as they were. He needed to be fully awake in order to get things done. Deciding to take the matter in hand, Michael sat up quickly, too quick for Sara to move out of the way. His hands reached around her waist, pulling her close as he glanced over her shoulder to the door where he could see the guard leaning against the frosted glass.

Their lips crashed together in heated desperation. She struggled momentarily but to his surprise, succumbed to the tight lock around her body. The kiss grew soft, the violence of it ebbed away much to her relief. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, begging entrance. She gasped at the sensation and found her hands cupping the back of his head as his tongue tentatively brushed against her open mouth.

A knock at the door brought both crashing back to their senses. They stood and adjusted clothing, avoiding each other out of guilt. "Well, Mr. Scofield, I think we're done here." She muttered, watching him put on his sock and boot.

The door opened and Captain Bellick stalked in. "He ready to go?"

She nodded, "Yes. I had to restitch the wound on his foot."

Michael stood and followed the guards out of the infirmary, back into the main building. Hands gripped the front of his shirt and slammed him against a brick wall. The rest of the guards respectfully averted their gazes as the Captain leaned in and glared at the inmate, "Snitch on me, did you Fish?"

Spearing him with a dark look, Michael said softly, " I don't know what you're talking about. I stubbed my foot."

Hands eased from his shirt and roughly patted his face. "Good Fish. Finally learning whose the bitch, huh?"

((PB))

When the bars slammed closed and the lights went out, Michael lay staring up at the lines on the mattress above him. He smiled, a small secretive smile as he remembered what it felt like to kiss a woman after months of self-imposed deprivation. It felt good.

He liked women with spice, with a little fire and had immediately condemned the quiet, intelligent yet very beautiful Sara Tancredi as docile as a doe. She wasn't. He was sure that if he had told her so, she'd deny it vehemently, saying that it went against all that she believed. But there was no denying that she had responded to his aggressiveness with a little bit of her own.

Jerking his head away from the dim light that filtered in between the bars of his cage, Michael stared at the bare concrete wall and tried to put his thoughts in order. He shouldn't have been thinking about a woman when his brother's life was on the line.

Anger and shame spiked through his veins, any happiness that he would have felt for that morning's conquest suddenly filtered away.

_"I can't believe you did that, Linc!" Atwelve-year-old Michael cried angrily._

_His brother glared down at him, his eyes alight with his own anger and something that Michael would have guessed as fear. "I did it because he hurt you, Mikey!"_

_"You did it because you liked it." Michael scoffed as the police's lights flashed in the livingroom hallway._

_"I didn't..." Lincoln muttered, "He hurt you." His hands, hands that were capable of beating a person half to death, gently brushed the bruise that peppered Michael's jaw a sickly purple hue._

_Michael jerked his head away from his older sibling's touch, feeling only disgust and betrayal at what he had done. His dad had left him with only fleeting memories and a Christmas card he had gotten when he was six. The fatherly role had landed with a heavy thud, on Lincoln's shoulders at the young age of nine, Michael had beenfive at the time._

_Michael whispered, too angry to find his voice. "You are just going to leave like dad did."_

_"I'm not going to leave you, Mikey."_

_"What do you call this!" He yelled, nodding his head towards the window where a police cruiser sat parked on the side of the road. "I don't give fuck about some stupid guy beating me up! But you had to go and almost kill him! Now, you are going to go and I'm not going to have anyone."_

_"I'm sorry, kid." And he had meant it far more than Michael's young brain could ever concieve._

_The door knocked and Lincoln swung it open. Two swarthy police officers stood in the doorstep, their eyes instantly locking on him. "Are you Lincoln Burrows?"_

_"Yes officer."_

_A hand reached out and grabbed his forearm, wrenching it behind his back. "Your under arrest for the assault of Jake Turner, anything you say..."_

Michael jerked awake, his entire body surging upwards as he woke from his nightmare. He eased back down on his bunk and tried to calm himself, tried to think of anything that would help ease the pain of that memory as it surged through his mind.

If only Lincoln hadn't beaten that kid up... where would they be?

But Lincoln had come back from Riverside a juvenile hall in Chicago a year later, completely changed. There was something silent and hard about him, like some part of his innocence had died. It was something that Michael had recognized on a sub-conscious level, making him wary of the stranger that inhabited his brother. He had demons, real and terrible that wouldn't go away. Lincoln drank and became destructive. The bond that each brother held had become so thin and overtaxed that eventually it became non-existent. If they hadn't shared the same blue eyes and the same tilt of the head, no one would have guessed they were brothers.

'Shame about the other one though...' People would whisper behind Michael's back as he fought for the best grades and impeccable attendance records that made his mother weepwith joy. He graduated valedictorian from MPHS and had moved on quickly to Loyola, striving to gain some distance from his family.

Six years later, he hadn't heard or seen of his brother, spoken to his mother briefly and graduated from Loyola with his degrees in Civil and Structural engineering. He was shocked to find his brother in the audience when he went up to receive his certificates. He had changed due to the presence of the immaculate, almost saintly Veronica Donovan. Michael wondered how in the hell Lincoln had met such a perfect and successful woman. It was almost too impossible to conceive and he was ashamed to admit that he was waiting for his brother to screw up soon– which was inevitable.

A year after graduating from Loyola and attaining a prominent job for a reputable company, Michael had absolutely refused to have anything to do with Lincoln after landing himself in jail for drug trafficking and thereby ruining any good chances he had with the beautiful lawyer. To make matters worse, Michael found out by his motherthat Lincoln had ason by a different woman.

LJ Burrows reminded Michael a lot of himself at that age. He felt bad for the kid, who had become mixed up his father's penchant for drama and bad run-ins with the law. After landing in jail, Michael was not surprised (but a little disappointed) to hear that LJ had experienced a run-in with the law himself after intending to traffic marijuana. He wanted to slap the boy, but he knew what LJ was going through and completely commiserated with his wayward nephew. Lincoln Burrows always had that affect on people. He always brought out the bad in anyone and if not, they quickly grew wise and moved on.

Blood is thicker than water, he remembered someone telling him once. Indeed it was and in his current situation, he couldn't agree with it anymore. Deep within the heart of Fox River, Michael knew better than anyone how thick blood was.

TBC


	3. Michael's Pawns

A/N- **Thanks to everyone who reviewed. :smewches: Love ya all!**

Neeways, here we are again. Yet another chappie filled with Michael yumminess. Enjoy. :) I'm also working on a project that is wayyyy too raunchy to be put on fanfiction dot net... it might show up at adultfanfiction dot net sometime in the near future but unfortunately, my disks that I usually transfer my stories in, ate it up so I have to rewrite it. Not that I WON'T enjoy every minute of it, I'm just paranoid that someone will glance over my shoulder and read it-- as people in my family are wont to do.

Disclaimers: Despite wishing to the gods above, the Prison Break characters are still the property of Fox and I've been informed, it will never be mine. Only in my dreams were I am goddess, empress, judge, jury and executioner, do I own them. :)

_Will we burn in heaven,  
Like we do down here?  
Will the change come  
While we're waiting? _

Everyone is waiting...

And when we're done  
Soul searching;  
As we carried the weight  
And died for the cause  
Is misery,  
Made beautiful  
Right before our eyes?  
Will mercy be revealed  
Or blind us where we stand?  
**Witness  
**by Sarah McLachlan

"What do you mean, you can't see me anymore, Mike?" He remembered her brown eyes, bright with confusion and tears. He hated the sloppy way she dealt with things. How she cried over the stupidest things. How she liked the colour pink and preferred puppies to kittens. There was nothing in this woman that remotely interested him, yet he kept going back to her time and again after their first night together. He felt bad about that drunk night they had spent together and stupidly left his number on her cell phone. She kept calling him, kept asking him what he was doing and what he was thinking about. She kept asking him out to drinks, and he kept accepting them instead of making excuses.

"Crystal, I'm sorry but I have a lot on my mind." He said softly, hoping she wouldn't make a scene in the posh, expensive restaurant that they were dining at. "You and I are going in different directions in life and I need to concentrate on my career." The words tasted like ash in his mouth as he spoke them. His eyes followed the single tear that spilled down her lovely face and dropped onto her expensive designer silk blouse.

The scabs on his back from the ink itched and burned like mad. He wanted to get this over and done with so he could go home and get out of the confining clothes that only irritated his skin.

"But, we're so good together... How? Why?" She cried and seeing the helpless look on his face, a look that he preformed only for her own benefit because he could have cared less, Crystal buried her perfect face in the napkin and sobbed noisily.

He had agreed to see her because she was the clerk in charge of the room that held plans that he needed. He went faithfully every day and wooed her with words while prying her for plans that she shouldn't have been able to give out and wouldn't have if he hadn't flirted shamelessly with her. It was a good thing that she was pretty enough and that made the seduction easier on him.

He had to take her out to all those expensive dinners and unfortunately, when he could shake her loose without offending her sensitive heart, they landed into bed where they had sloppy, drunk sex that left him feeling dirty and ashamed with himself. Her room was pink. Her bed was a darker coloured pink that she had proudly informed him before hand was 'dusky rose'. He couldn't quite remember why she had divulged that useless bit of information, but he remembered it.

((PB))

That morning, after breakfast he was escorted to the infirmary where he got his shot. It was the morning after he had kissed her and he vowed to himself, for the sake of his brother, that he would say no more than was necessary to her. He sat down in the chair, rolled up his sleeve and laid his arm on the table to await his shot.

She sat on her stainless steel stool with wheels that made it easier for her to move around the furniture in the room. Her hands, professionally gentle beneath the latex gloves, probed for a vein.

Michael sat watching her, not the needle as he used to. His eyes caught the twitch of muscle in her right cheek as she carefully inserted the needle.

"How was your date last night?" He asked suddenly.

She didn't answer until the syringe had been dropped on the tray and the latex gloves were removed with a loud snap. "It was fine, as dates go." Sara said guardedly.

"Wow, that good huh?" He asked softly, his eyes never leaving hers as he pulled his shirt down to his wrist.

Shrugging, Sara opted to change the subject, "So should I take a look at your foot?"

He returned the shrug. "My toe still hasn't grown back overnight so I don't see why you would have to."

Sara sat up, her spine straight as her hands folded themselves primly on her lap. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday..."

"Talk away." He said and leaned back further in the chair, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

Feeling somehow patronized, Sara could feel all the professionally condescending words melt away. She opened her mouth, "It shouldn't have..." Her breath followed those words as he leaned forward, his face scant inches away from hers. "Happened?" He offered, his breath hot against her cheek, "But it did... didn't it?"

She shook her head. _'Only a few inches... if I lean in just a few more inches I'll be able to kiss __him.'_ The voice in her head whispered and only when his lips touched hers did she realize that her body had responded to that decieving voice.

Their mouths, tentative at first, became bold and even further emboldened as he lifted her from the stool and onto his lap. He didn't move his hands from her sides as hers traced lazy strokes over his chest.

When finally her conscience was too much to ignore, she pulled away breathless and stood. "I shouldn't have done that." She blurted, too scared to look in his face and see lewd victory stamped there.

It wasn't, as she glanced up at his face. Instead, she saw something that sent chills down her spine. A dark, calculating look pierced her foggy brain, imprinting fear and awe in her brain. "No, you shouldn't have." He said softly before leaving her standing in the room with a shocked look on her face.

Her taste lingered in his mouth long after his meeting with her. When he was let loose on the field with Sucre at his side, he worked calmly at his game but she was always there at the tip of tongue, haunting his tastebuds. He glanced at his brother, sharing a dark and quiet look with him that sent messages only brothers were privy to.

The desperation and fear he saw carefully masked on his brother's face drove her from his mind and he turned back to his task at hand. Moving the pains carefully into place was getting harder and harder, time was rapidly closing in on him.

"How is it going, Fish? I hope that you have your shit together?" Abruzzi growled, his eyes sweeping the ground before resting on Michael's

"Things are going as planned." Michael said evasively, pulling his eyes away from his brother to look at Abruzzi.

The man thumped him on the back, it was hard and aggressive but to anyone who had casually glanced this way, they would have mistaken it for comradery. "It better, Fish. It better." He said and then wandered back to his own territory.

((PB))

Later that night, Michael lay listening to the softly rasping snores of his cell mate. They set a steady cadence of his thoughts, lulling him into a hypnosis that seemed almost like sleep.

He hated to admit, even to himself, that he was scared. He was never a violent person, he had never resolved anything with violence, much less started anything with it. If anyone even caught a whiff of his terror, he knew he was done for. The shiv fight that had rattled him, leaving his mind ravaged by the swift brutality of it...

Michael scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to get rid of the sight of Maytag's desperate eyes as they glazed over when he had finally succumbed to death. He shuddered quietly, feeling the hot tears leak out from his clenched eyelids, smearing across the palms of his hands.

If there was a god, he would have prayed to it. He would have wasted all night fervently sending messages to guide him, get him out the hell he had willing put himself into, to get his brother out alive, for Veronica to find something that would prove Linc's innocence... but there was no god.

Especially not in a place like this. Michael had come to terms with his hell before he had put himself into it. He knew that even if he did prove his brother's innocence, Michael would always be a hunted man. He would either have to finish his sentence if he returned to the country, or he would have to go to Mexico or somewhere where he could melt into the background.

It was a lot better than living with the knowledge that he had let his brother die because he hadn't done all within his power to help him. Lincoln had once given up his freedom for Michael and now it was time for Michael to do the same. What he hadn't counted on was the sheer force of violence, ignorance and blind hate he had witnessed within the stone walls of Fox River Penn. There was no way he could ever be prepared for something like that.

((PB))

'_You don't know what I went through in there.' Sneered Lincoln, his breath reeking of __cheap whiskey and sour beer. 'You couldn't begin to imagine the shit that goes on in a place like __that.'_

'_Why don't you tell me, Linc? So I can help.' Michael begged._

_The elder turned and shoved his little brother, causing him to fall backwards and slide __across the kitchen floor. 'That was your first taste.' He snarled before stalking out of the room __and out of the house._

_Michael couldn't bring himself to stand, he sat on the floor where he had dropped and __felt helpless tears slide down his face. His brother was so broken, so ruined. There was nothing __left to love and be proud of anymore._

_A hand reached down and brushed against his cheek. Her legs straddled his, he was no __longer fourteen and he was no longer in his mother's kitchen. He sat in that damned chair in the __doctor's office that reeked of must, antiseptic and her perfume. She was wearing a black skirt __that had restricted her movements. Her hands hiked the material up to her waist as she rested __back on his thighs._

'_We shouldn't be doing this...' Her voice whispered in his ear as her hands worked at his __belt._

This time, he didn't awaken violently, but rather slid back into consciousness. He didn't bother opening his eyes. He rolled onto his side and tucked his arms beneath the pillow that his head rested on. He forced himself to think of something else beside his brother and Sara Tancredi slid unwelcomed into his mind just as she had insinuated herself in his dreams.

TBC


End file.
